I am the stupidest person.

Parro asked how we got five yurees in the lockbox, what this sale of a pair of shorts in the binder was about. So I told him. And he laughed, and told me not to let strangers have the key to the lockbox again, but he was glad it was a nice person.

So I am the stupidest person.

Obviously we shouldn't let strangers have the key to the lockbox. That's the point of the lockbox.

That didn't occur to me last night. Nope, the thought that Parro always puts the money in the lockbox did occur to me last night, so I, like a fool, made sure the money got in the lockbox.

Parro said, for future reference, keeping strangers away from the lockbox is more important than getting the money inside it right then. I can put the yurees on a shelf in the backroom if I have to.

I add this to the list of things it's important to prioritize, that apparently I should be prioritizing. I forget what else is on the list. But when the right situation comes along, I'll probably remember tons of them.

I can't focus on counting up the boxes on the third wall, my thoughts replay Blue-finned guy and his teeth, his eyes, the hand clapping my shoulder. He must've been thinking weird things about me. Why did I go grab the shorts off the shelf for him? He could've done that himself. Why didn't I just take his money and let him go, and set the money on a shelf somewhere?

I can't focus on counting up the boxes so when Parro comes into the back for the pencil, I sign to him that I'm going for a break. "Okay," he signs back, gray shirt sleeves fluttering, "Ange's coming over soon, he can do his own travel inventory for once."

"Isn't Ange's still asleep," I sign back, "from the concert?"

"I said soon, not right now."

"And Ange messes up his math."

He shrugs. "You can always double-check it when you get back."

"I think he should set up the fabric display while I do his math."

Parro's lips curve upward. "I'll tell him."

***

I have a cave, in a spot on the hillside, where some massive, square hammer from the surface fell and squished a chunk of mud and bedrock on the sea floor's gentle slope.

I pretend that's what happened. That's probably not how it happened. But why couldn't a strange, indented cube in the otherwise steady slope of the hill have been dented by a giant?

Some creature, plant or animal, bored through the mud surface to the rock, whittling it away over the years. Maybe. Or maybe the stone naturally formed with bubbles inside itself, and the fictitious hammer broke open one side of it.

I found it, however it got made, by a gap in the vibrations rolling up through the sea. A delayed buzz in the ocean's thrum rose up from the deep and I followed it down to its source, an indented cube--missing the front and top--in the hill, with a person-sized cave entrance in the side.

The cave is dark, it's a bit deeper than our house and the store, but it's out of the way from the rows of houses and shops and restaurants winding down to the Teardrops. And I don't think anyone's ever discovered it before.

A few days after I found the cave, I took a big slab of rock from the middle of muddy nowhere and hauled it to cover the hole. The rock's not that big. But it fills the size of the entrance--only tiny slipstreams of water glide around the rock, and I can slide my fingers in the gaps to shimmy the rock free. Whenever I leave, I replace the rock and slather mud around it to help it blend in, and the rock does its best to keep anyone else from finding this cave in the vertical stone face.

I started collecting things inside the cave, this bubble inside the stone. I took a little wood box from my bedroom, stuck it with some putty to the ceiling; the side pops open and closed and inside I collect abandoned shells, and bits of coral, and sea urchin spines.

Around the walls, I pile green kelp dolls, most of those came from a prank gift Ange got Parro one birthday, and Parro was going to donate them somewhere but I snuck them all out and nobody asked me what happened to them but if someone did I would've played dumb.

The three pink kelp dolls came from a concert Ange took us to months ago, in a small theater with padded-leaf seats. The band called themselves Sunlit Walkers, I told Ange afterward that they sounded nice, to be polite, and he just said it was impressive I stayed awake when not even Parro could. Parro then complained that the band should've called themselves the Sunlit Sleepers, since their music put him to sleep; he said that I only stayed awake since I couldn't hear them.

Ange gave me the three kelp dolls after I told him the drummer was my favorite person. Because he agreed. Though I don't think his reason was the neon ink painted on her body spinning a mesmerizing dance with her movements.

Around the walls I pile kelp dolls, in a ring on the floor I arrange pairs of abandoned shells, their edges smoothed by age and water currents. I sink to the stone floor in the middle of the shells, rubbing my fins on golden abalone and pearly scallop. I tap my fingers on the auger, scratch nautilus shells together. I hardly find any of these shells myself. Except the one scallop in the box and the one pointy auger also in the box--I found those both outside our store, under the back door.

Most of the shells come from Parro and Ange's friends, who bring special goodies to the store in exchange for hosting some kind of club there. Ange's friend Sta makes brittle cookies, Anemon brings artwork sometimes, and Hamme collects strings of shells. Sometimes I take the shells, since Hamme insists, even though I'm not part of the club. I don't even know what the club is about, either. But I take the shells when he offers them, and decorate the cave with them.

What I do, inside the cave: I think. I decorate. I give names to the kelp dolls, like Pinky, Fluorescent, Finzee, Voyage and Popper. I still have twenty unnamed dolls, but I got stuck after Yewel with the first of the pink kelp dolls because her face reminds me of someone but I can't figure out who and I can't name her something random because her name--which she knows, but I can't hear her trying to tell me--is close to the person I know but not that close. And I can't figure out who she reminds me of, so I can't figure out that person's name, or how her name is close to that.

It's bothered me for at least a week but I can't figure it out.